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When World's Collide By Shaaker Ravenaxe (This story was originally written
7/25/01 by an Allegiance of Faith member, and submitted to this site
by Salladar)
It is 4:45 on Wednesday afternoon and I have not logged in to play in several days. Furthermore, I do not see an opportunity in the near future. I need my fix, but one problem: I am at work. Solution: Close the door . And so here I go, next stop – Dreadlands. The sun was high over the barren tundra better known to the citizens of Norrath as the Dreadlands. A weary and forsaken place, the very ground quietly groaned under the burden of the heat and the oppressive inhabitants that roamed about with no agenda save destruction and death. Being careful not to expose himself, Shaaker moved silently through the shadows of Karnor’s Castle, an awesome relic of wars long since fought. Through the mourning of the wind, he strained to hear the faint yet clear call of someone in need of a healer. (So-and-so says out of character: ”Group looking for healer”) As he took off his boots to empty them of the sand, he called back, “ Well met, I am a Shaman of the 37 season, learned in the healing ways. Tell me where you are hiding and I will come to you.” “Avail yourself of haste, young Shaaker, we are near the Northeastern ruins and our party is weary and bleeding badly” With lupine movements, Shaaker dashed over fallen columns and walls, his eyes affixed on a lonely outpost of ruins. As he approached, the wind gave way to the sound of blade against bone, of armor being battered by brute power and the desperate involuntary cries of pain. “No time for pleasantries, Barbarian. Heal us!” Shaaker paused for the brief second, in awe of the melee before him. Warrior, monk, paladin and wizard, all heavy with sweat, blood caked on their faces, hands and clothing. The warrior held a large, furious, two-handed battle-axe, unlike anything he had ever seen; its arch across the sky as it raced to its target was enormous, like a silvery rainbow of steel and death. Sidestepping the Rager, Yeti and Widow, Shaaker silently cursed as he cast his heals upon the warrior, “Damnation, blood escapes from his ears, death is at hand.” Focus, concentration, quickness; all necessary elements for a shaman to heal and heal rapidly. Images of past mistakes and failures haunted Shaaker (sorry Rad, Sall, Fea, Jaka, Eald. Damn, who HASN’T died on my watch?) even at that moment when the spell effects impacted the warrior and it became clear that yes, all would live. Drained of his energy, the Shaman sat with his back to the wall as the three fighters dispatched the last of the abominations. Before the corpse of the Tundra Yeti slapped against the dust, all were sitting, thankful for the victory and the respite from the fighting. After salutations and introductions were properly done, yet before the shaman was fully restored (65m), the warrior leapt to his feet, kicked up a small cloud of dust and disappeared into the horizon. The remaining group actually felt the ground beneath them shaking before they caught sight of the brute cresting the horizon in full pursuit of the warrior. The stench of its fur made the paladin retch as the beast approached their camp. Yet without hesitation the members fell upon it, quickly dispatching it. And with renewed energy, the warrior was once again off. For seemingly hours, Shaaker constantly healed and enhanced the warriors and wizard with a combination of potions, bandages, incantations and the magical arts. ( Awesome experience) Indeed, his efforts became so intense at times that his spirit-self was eating away at his body-self, sapping his life force slowly away. (Constant cannibalization) Nonetheless, it was a glorious time of mayhem and vengeance as the company of five played havoc upon the foulest of Norrath’s beasts. But off in the distance, rolling and building, unseen to all, a collision of destruction and chaos was gathering together to drown the meager group. Like so many times before, the warrior, blood still fresh on his helm, headed out into the wasteland in search of prey. Just then Shaaker’s thoughts were interrupted by greetings from beyond the Dreadlands. (Sall, in a rare mid-day appearance, logs on and says hello) Allegiance-bearers, fellow adventurers bound together by a mystical force that allowed them to speak to each other using only their thoughts. (Guild chat) Closer than blood brothers, they had shared too many travels to count and the presence of even one Allegiance-bearer in battle gave comfort and security to Shaaker. Rising from seat, the barbarian was preparing to welcome the brother and inquire about his recent journeys when disaster was unleashed. Before his thoughts could be collected, the shaman’s heart stopped as the warrior hoarsely cried out, “Prepare yourselves, for today you shall have either death or victory, for retreat is not an option!” No truer words were uttered that day because behind him four beasts of differing size and power pursued him, all equally furious and determined to crush our beings. (Really, really, really bad pull) It was then that Shaaker lost his sight. The knock at my door was soft and I still jumped out of my seat. As it opened I hit the monitor power button and whirled around to see my bosses smiling face. “Ah, Matt, I need to talk to you about the Florida property,” he says as his sits down in front of me. My inner voice is screaming out: “Who is Matt and where the hell is Florida??!!!!” I nervously shift around and say “ok”. (What was I going to say? “Go away, my barbarian shaman is engaged currently in a battle to the death and other people are depending on me and by the way I am doing this on a company computer on a pirated fax line from Accounts Receivables and yes, I am still on the clock”?) The next 45 seconds seem to last an eternity as he begins to open up a folder and hand me some documents. My mind is racing: Do I “/q” or not? I figure that unless I get back ASAP they will die (remember we are at the NE ruins and only the warrior has SoW), so I decide to wait it out. My thinking is that if they die I should die with them and besides I may yet get back in time. In the background, I can faintly hear the groans and cries from group members as the battle rages and I am here talking about property lines and general warranty deeds. Just as I feel all is lost, the intercom crackles and my boss is paged, “Mr. Scott, you have a call holding on your line”. He walks to the door and as he leaves tells me, “Sorry about this Matt, but I need to take this call.” “Oh, by all means” I reply in my nicest business-tron voice. The second he leaves, I hit the monitor power on, leap up, close the door and pray that I am not staring at the “LOADING………… “ message. Suddenly vision returns to the barbarian and all about him was pain. Moving without delay, he begins to heal and heal and heal again. (I get off four heals) One by one, the swordsmen feel bolstered and with renewed commitment they stand their ground. The wizard, while nearly untouched, is beginning to show weakness as he drains his spirit-self in the melee. Not a single creature had fallen, when suddenly darkness again surrounds the shaman, paralyzing him. This time, no knock, the door just opens. I have positioned my chair to block the monitor and as I swing around to my desk I discreetly hit the power button again. “Sorry, that was not for me after all”, says my boss. ARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH – I scream at the reality that I am surely dead and the others as well. I could fake passing out or vomit on the desk but that would just bring more people. Please, please, please, please GO AWAY! Then suddenly hope; as my boss is sitting down, another executive (higher than my boss) sees him and asks him if he has a second to talk. “Sure, you need me now?” he asks. “Yes, if you don’t mind.” My boss heads out the door and it looks like I am saved, but then disaster: they have only moved 5-8 feet from my doorway and are talking there. Feeling the adrenaline begin to pump, I say screw it and turn on the monitor, trying to position my chair to block anyone from seeing the action. So there I am, door wide open, screen coming clearer and the two men who could crush my career blithely talking away about some irrelevant issue like employee misuse of the Internet. The light and vision sear Shaaker’s mind: the wizard gasping his last breaths as death cackled, the warrior and paladin fading as well and the monk no longer standing. (The bastard monk had FD’d and everyone except me was 1 bubble of health or less.) At their feet lay two of the gruesome brutes; a third was bleeding freely from his ears and nose, blind with pain and embracing the grave. But the last creature, a Rager, was a frenzied windmill of claws, spit and blood. Cries for healing, for renewed stamina, and even for mercy created a cacophony of sorrow that shook the barbarian’s soul. (In all CAPS, the warrior had repeatedly said, “SHAAKER HEAL!!”) Working with an unknown furor, Shaaker healed the wizard just as his body was collapsing under the final blow. Assured of his safety, the barbarian then cast healing spells upon the warrior and the paladin. With that, the beast descended upon the shaman, the one who was cheating him of his victory and next meal. However, the beast’s fury was his undoing, for as he was attacking the healer, both warrior and paladin moved in from behind and dispatched him with an efficiency that only comes from rage. As the bodies lay rotting in the hot sun, Shaaker apologizes for the unexplainable blindness and loss of abilities. (/g “Very, very sorry all, bad patch of ‘technical difficulties’, I need to log. Just glad no one died.”) Not one among the group argued with him as he offered to leave the group and seek rest and greater healing within the safety of ruins. And with that Shaaker ran to a secluded and safe corner, thanked the Tribunal for his life and that none had died, and promptly went to sleep. Note to self: If you play from work, just solo. Greens.
Near a zone. With guards nearby.
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